


(so i will die with) the secrets of the sea

by peupeugunn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 05:05:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16111406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peupeugunn/pseuds/peupeugunn
Summary: Between one moment and the next he shifts between the planes— never of his own volition. Between one moment and the next he goes from being the Watcher’s Bane, a simple pawn in the game of life the Norns play, to standing on the bridge of a ship bound for Midgardr, trembling with fear as he looks upon the ship belonging to that wretched, tainted scum of a Titan. Between one moment and the next he shifts from his dissolution in the First Cycle to his Beginning in the Thirty-seventh.





	(so i will die with) the secrets of the sea

**Author's Note:**

> "In the end it boils down to credibility,  
> I had none, so I will die with the secrets of the sea."

Loki does not- _cannot-_ exist on one plane only. That is the curse, the burden placed upon his shoulders, has been his _gift_ since the First Cycle, the Beginning, when the Universe had been but a speck of dark nothingness illuminated by strange fire, only _one_ where it is now _all._ Loki lives his lives with _knowledge_ , constantly curious and confused and _terrified_. This is not strange.

Loki is Mischief, he is Chaos incarnate (the Universe cannot- _will not_ \- exist without him; he is the spontaneity with no _apparent_ order that every _subatomic particle_ is blessed with), he is the Fire of _life itself_ , burning through the Universe like the plague it is, second only to the infinite omniscience of Lady Death herself.

(It never stops being funny, the fact that Loki, who is _always_ of the snowy wastes of Jotünheim, has always had the spark of the Eternal Flame within him, is the only one other than Surtr himself who can wield it when it is pure and _untainted_.)

Between one moment and the next he shifts between the planes- never of his own volition. Between one moment and the next he goes from being the Watcher’s Bane, a simple pawn in the game of life the Norns play, to standing on the bridge of a ship bound for Midgardr, trembling with fear as he looks upon the ship belonging to that wretched, tainted _scum_ of a Titan. Between one moment and the next he shifts from his dissolution in the First Cycle to his Beginning in the Thirty-seventh.

(He is Chaos incarnate. The very idea of his lives, his existence being linear is _abhorrent,_ an affront. Odin Allfather, for all that he gave up in the name of _knowledge_ and _truth_ , has never understood the nature of Loki’s connection to the very threads of existence. How foolish.)

In one moment he is the proud product of King Farbauti's first marriage and in the next he is the misguided, lost _child_ who Queen Frigga loved as her own. This is not so great a change that he should feel the sliver of apprehension that he does, no. No, his confusion should be but temporary as he grows accustomed to the flow of _memories_ and _understanding_ from a life he has not lived yet. But this foreign sense of anxiety, that stems from a whisper in the back of his mind, a desperate cry for help, a _prayer_ , that originates from a time in this Cycle that he realises to be several hundred years from the Birth of the Eternal Flame- the Big Bang, as the Midgardians so call it. No being Loki is aware of has such raw _power_ , such an ability to _bend time_ to it's will, to pull Loki away from his present to a time in which he hadn't been anything but the random motion of particles _everywhere_.

Between one moment and the next, Loki goes from standing besides his brother in all but blood, to beholding a truly _gigantic_ being that holds such a _magnificent_ Grace that it should have no business calling upon so young a creature as this Loki, has no business _knowing_ of Loki's existence at all.

The being-for it is neither living nor dead, and Loki suspects it shall never know of the grassy plains of Helheim- is _old_ yet so very young, much like Loki himself. It is held together by its own all-consuming grief, and electricity and fire and something so strangely familiar and unfamiliar.

“Who are you,” Loki questions in his native tongue, voice little more than a whisper, and then repeats himself while layering the spell of All-Speak into his words.

The being lights up with comprehension, an explosion akin to a supernova playing across what Loki takes to be it's skin. It has no face, nor does it truly have a body- not yet, at the very least- but if it did, Loki would think that it was smiling. _I am Gabriel_ , the being says, it's voice echoing through _everything_ , while simultaneously being _non-existent_ in a way that Loki knows all too well. This _Gabriel_ is a Messenger, perhaps even the _first_ , and how utterly delightful a thought that is, how _humbling_ an experience it is to have a nearly all-powerful deity _praying_ to _him_.

(In all his lives yet, Loki has only ever met three Messengers. Queen Frigga whose soul in the Thirty-seventh cycle resides in Valhalla in honour of the warrior she had been, Prince Helblindi the Wise, the youngest ruler in all of Jotünheim’s histories, and Prince Fenrir who was born of Loki's own blood and womb, who had been shackled with mortal form by the will of Asgard. He knows that though they may not seem to weild much power when their appearances are all that are considered, no Messenger has so desperately required help to stoop so low as to _pray_ for assistance. Whatever Gabriel requires, it will not be simple to provide. Loki does not even have the ability to refuse.)

But when Gabriel’s being shivers with resigned, weary amusement and asks for _Sanctuary_ , Loki remembers that the Universe both loves him and loathes him, and that _yes,_ granting this request of such a beautiful being is very much within his power.

But, of course, Loki has never been one to give in to the whims of others so simply. So he offers, _politely_ , “there are many peoples that would be simply _honoured_ to house your infinite Grace, Messenger. My own people- the Jotün, mind you- would be a fine choice. I'm afraid Asgard doesn't have the resources for such an endeavour at the moment.” Which is to say, at the time in which Loki is currently speaking to Gabriel, Asgard has not even begun to exist though Jotünheim has- not that it carries much life yet.

The being shivers with something akin to true _laughter_ and gazes upon Loki with pride. (This is not something he is used to, not that he would ever admit such weakness). _I see my decision to call upon you was no mistake_ , it hisses, and curls its power around Loki in a gesture of fondness. That in itself is an odd thing, never mind the feeling of lightning crawling through his soul. _I thank you and your people, Frigga’s Child, but I need to be hidden from the gaze of Heaven itself_. At this, Loki freezes, breath coming out in shaky puffs.

Oh, he knows very well what Gabriel asks for- that which only Loki and one other can provide, but the knowledge of the _price_ , the very thought of being parted with something so _integral_ to his self- the self of this cycle- fills him with revulsion. Gabriel tilts his non-existent head, waiting. And then Loki realises his mistake.

Loki, Frigga's son, Farbauti's daughter, Heimdall's Undoing, Hel’s father, is _Chaos_. He is the embodiment of the _Eternal Flame_. Mischief is simply a title bestowed upon him by the people who dared shackle him, who forced the backward principles of Asgard upon Loki because he had the _audacity_ to make them face their wrongdoings. His Mischief is a _power_ , yes, brought into being by fierce, misguided belief, but it is yet another set of chains- though not formed from the entrails of his youngest child- and he realises that all things have their ends and beginnings. He realises that every end is a beginning, and every beginning is an end, and oh how _freeing_ a thought it is.

So he smiles, truly _grateful_ for the first time in his many, many lives, and says, “yes,” allowing Gabriel to break him free of the chains Odin Allfather had bound him in, allowing Gabriel to accept the power as his own, and setting Gabriel free in turn. “I would suggest hiding on Midgardr,” Loki suggests to the being that he will allow his own name. “There are many pantheons that would take you in as their own.” He says this with a smile, a veiled warning.

Gabriel's form shifts, lessens in its _intensity_ , it's blinding brightness, it's purity, till he appears more Vanir than _Graceful_. It is not a pleasant sight by any means, but it makes Loki's smile widen to become something more genuine. The being moves forward, _towards_ Loki, though he doesn't appear to be moving at all. He cups Loki’s face in too-warm hands and places a gentle kiss upon his brow- just as Frigga used to- just as, in another life, Queen Laufey used to- and Loki's breath catches in his throat. This is not just a gesture of thanks, this is a _Blessing_ , a boost of power, the magnitude of which nearly overwhelms Loki's seidr. This is so much- too much- no, Loki does not _deserve_ such a gift for acting in his own best interests, _no-_

“ _Quiet, child,”_ Gabriel whispers in his mind, but the words also slip past his newly formed lips, lightning quick and _steady_ and comforting in a way nothing has been for a very long time in this Cycle. _“The Blessing is temporary.”_ Gabriel fixes Loki with a hard, quelling stare. _“You know who must defeat_ him _, and you know how it must be done. That is all you need.”_

Their foreheads press together and Loki's eyes slip shut. There is a _Fire_ in his soul that this incarnation of him has not felt since infancy. It _burns_ , brighter and brighter and brighter, all-consuming, slipping into the very core of his being, it needs to _escape_ -

His eyes snap open and he finds that he is surrounded by _screams_ , and his brother is tugging at him, trying to _pull him away_ from the view of that damned ship and Loki is _burning_ with righteous anger and the world is disorientingly bright and he isn't sure which way is up and which way is down but he can sense a rippling _darkness_ on the other ship and it calls to him, like a beacon, waiting to be _smited_. 

 

_“Loki!”_

 

Thor is yelling, yelling out to him, trying to drag him to safety, trying to save _all_ his people as is his nature but Loki knows that of the two of them, Thor requires the chance to flee more. So he turns to face his brother, clasping his arm in a typical Asgardian farewell- at this, Thor’s eye widens, his hands tremble, already grieving- and he says, “ _Go_ , brother. Be the King our people need; I'll hold back the Titan.”

His brother grabs him by the collar as he turns to leave, screaming, “Loki, you'll get yourself _killed_ ,” and they both hear something of Loki himself in that tone, the tone he used to take when trying to reign in his big brother’s impulsive behaviour.

Their situations have been reversed for some time now, so Loki does what Thor always did. He grins bright, shaking off his brother's arm and shrugging off the glamour that lets him appear Aesir, letting the blue ripple across his skin- except the blue is streaked with gold that crackles and _writhes_ , yearning to be unleashed. His eyes don't quite _see_ as much as _sense_ , for they are nothing but Flame. His veins are ice, as is his heart, but his soul trembles with the need to _rage_ , to raze down the ship that so threatens the last of his people.

He ignores the gasps from the scattered Asgardians across the mock throne room, instead focussing on Thor, whose eye is wide with surprise. Then, the older god grins back, eyes bright with grief, skin streaked with _lightning_ , just like Gabriel, though lacking severely in the wing's department, and nods regally, looking the part of a King, though Loki can tell he does not feel he deserves the title. He knows, though, that his brother can sense the absence of his Mischief, and the _roiling_ , near explosive tempest of his Chaos and Fire. His brother understands this better than anyone else.

Perhaps that is why Thor doesn't protest when Loki dismisses his still present concern with a wave of his hand and a gleeful, “I'll be _fine_ , really Thor.” Or maybe it has something to do with the Infinity Stone that Loki miniaturised and slipped into his pocket that demands the King’s attention. Regardless, Loki walks towards the soon-to-be battleground, his smile resembling that of a _predator_ , fingertips already bringing the Fire to life. He walks with _confidence_ , armed with _knowledge_ and _power_ the likes of which Thanos will never have seen before.

Thor's voice, a crackle seidr in his mind, whispers _Don't think I won't get you back for this, little brother_ , is a comforting weight on his thoughts that are more a fierce inferno than anything else at the moment. He understands the message hidden within those words, and so Loki laughs as he calls out to Thanos, _demanding_ a fight that the Titan cannot- _will_ _not-_ refuse. He knows he will win the war, even if the battle is lost. He knows he will see Lady Gamora and Lady Nebula slay their 'father’ with vengeance powering their every move- working _together_ rather than against each other as the Titan had so wished. It will be a simply _gorgeous_ sight to behold.

 


End file.
